


Gray

by ChaosandMayhem



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: AU, Brief drug usage, Explicit Language, Friends to Lovers, Ishimaru took a level in badass, Junko has evil plans, Multi, Smoking, darker and edgier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosandMayhem/pseuds/ChaosandMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kiyotaka Ishimaru has learned to see the world in stark black and white, and in a profession like his its easier that way. And he certainly never suspected that a notorious criminal like Mondo Oowada could show him how to blend that black and white, into a beautiful, dangerous gray.</p><p>Of course, falling in love with the man he was supposed to kill might be a lot easier, if not for a certain someone's plot to introduce the world to the ultimate sort of despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead Man's Gun

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Welcome to a little project of mine. The prompt "Person A is a bounty hunter contracted to kill Person B, but winds up falling in love with them" was originally suggested to me on Tumblr, and since then it's blown up out-of-control. As always, a huge thank-you to Belphegor for her beta talents.
> 
> This will be Ishimondo eventually. We just need to stop them from killing each other first.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is hesitation

**Chapter One: Dead Man's Gun**

The years had not been kind to Kiyotaka Ishimaru.

 The 28-year-old slouched against the small wall on the rooftop building, unlit cigarette dangling idly from his lips. His odd red eyes bore down onto the small nightclub across the street. He was as still as a statue, and although he had been in this position for some time, Ishimaru had patience and stamina enough to last him several hours more. The only movement he made was to occasionally run his finger along the trigger of the sniper rifle he held in anticipation.

Hard work. Disciple. A strong moral code.

 They had been all the right components for a Super High School Level Hall Monitor. And they were all the right components for a bounty hunter too.

 The way Ishimaru saw it—the way he justified it to himself, privately—was that bounty hunters were simply the hall monitors of the real world. And this form of detention was just a bit more…permanent.

 Once upon a time he had had a dream of being prime minister, of making a true difference in the world. But the world was crueler than any fifteen-year-old could suppose, and his grandfather’s great failure dogged him no matter where he went, no matter how hard he worked. He had known hunger and poverty and crushing disappointment. Time and tribulations had rotted away his idealism, taken the shine from his eyes, but it had never robbed him of his goal.

 He could still make a difference. He could still earn a new name for his family.

 It was just going to take a lot more brute force than he had originally supposed.

 Music blared from the night club and neon signs illuminated the patrons as they entered and exited the club in various states of inebriation, roaring with laughter and shouting insults and jests into the night.

 Ishimaru’s lip curled back in disgust.

 His latest target had yet to leave the club; Ishimaru had seen him entering just as he had been setting up his position, but that had been several hours ago. Dimly he wondered just what one could do in a night club that could take so long—drink, eat peanuts, watch barely-legal girls strip for cash? His stomach roiled at the thought (sociability had never been Ishimaru’s strong point, and the idea that people might be enjoying other people's company in there had never occurred to him).

 Looking for a way to pass the time that did not involve watching a man retch on the sidewalk, Ishimaru slipped down behind the wall and pulled his target’s dossier from his messenger bag.

  _Mondo Oowada_ , he read, _current leader of the Crazy Diamonds_.

 Ishimaru read over the dossier with faint disinterest. The only thing of note to him was the fact that he and Oowada had apparently both attended the same high school, in the same year, no less.

 Oowada’s face—thug-like, heavy-lidded, scowling—did look vaguely familiar to Ishimaru, but he felt no sense of kinship to his former classmate. He was a notorious gang leader, a rabid dog that needed to be put down before he infected society.

 Setting the dossier aside, Ishimaru dug a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette in his mouth. Years ago he would have been horrified by the notion of smoking, of defiling the temple that was his body, but lately Ishimaru had found that smoking eased his nerves before a commission could be completed.

 It never got any easier, killing, but what had to be done for the good of public morale had to be done in whatever way possible.

 That’s what he told himself, anyway.

 "HEY!"

 The baritone shout on the street made Ishimaru jump. He grabbed his rifle, cursing himself in low tones, and peered through the scope, scanning the streets below.

 Oowada had finally emerged from the club, looking furious. His signature black coat was thrown over his shoulder, his ridiculous pompadour a mussed-up mess. He shoved his way through the crowd outside the door, striding forward in an intent to kill.

 Ishimaru’s finger tensed on the trigger.

 "HEY! KID!"

 Oowada had finally caught up with his target—a staggering, stumbling fellow some years his junior—grabbed him by the shoulder, and spun him around.

 The drunkard blocked Ishimaru’s clear shot. Frowning, he eased back and waited, watching the interaction between the two.

 Oowada was nose-to-nose with the drunkard, howling so much that he was red in the face. He gesticulated wildly, demanding to know if the man was “fuckin’ stupid or just suicidal” before snatching the motorcycle keys that had been dangling from the cretin’s hand.

 At that the drunkard sprang forward, protesting and cussing Oowada out, but the muscular gang leader just scowled and tucked the confiscated keys into his pocket.

 Curious, Ishimaru tilted his head to the side, trigger finger idle.

 The drunkard tried to swing a fist at Oowada, but that only earned him a cuff upside the head and more berating. As the drunkard staggered backwards, rubbing his head in pain, Oowada stepped off the block and onto the street, raising his arm.

 After a minute a taxi rolled up. Oowada stepped forward, handed the driver some cash, and steered his drunken companion into the vehicle. He seemed to be making promises about the man’s motorcycle: “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it to you tomorrow, relax. Just go home and sleep it off, jeez…”

 Ishimaru was fascinated.

 Oowada nodded at the driver before stepping back onto the sidewalk. He moved over to the brick wall beside the club, watching the entrance with intent etched into his features.

  _Now_ , a little voice urged Ishimaru, _now, while you have the chance!_

 But it was now, of all the contracts he’d taken over the years, of all the criminals he’d killed, that Ishimaru found himself freezing up.

 Time passed, Oowada did not moved, and still all Ishimaru could do was watch. As more members of Oowada’s gang came stumbling out of the club, Oowada would stop them, checking each of them over personally. Those he deemed too inebriated to ride had their keys confiscated, and packed into a cab that he paid for himself.

 Why? Ishimaru wanted to scream. Why are you doing this? You’re a criminal, you’re not supposed to care for other people, care about the consequences of their actions—!

 Fury and bile rose in Ishimaru’s throat. He’d spent a lifetime building the world in terms of black and white, and now this singular man, this gangster, was blending those colors. No, no there was no gray, there couldn’t be gray, because if there was anything but black and white then he, the grandson of a prime minister, was more of a monster than that nobody criminal could ever be—!

 He wanted Oowada dead, suddenly, dead and gone and not forcing him to question his moral code. Criminals couldn’t be good men. They just couldn’t be…

 The fury left him, replaced by something heavy and sorrowful that didn’t have a proper name.

 Slowly he eased the rifle away, setting it down beside him. The cigarette was taken out of his mouth and crushed against the rooftop with a slight sizzle. He was tired, very tired, and he just wanted to go home.

 He eased up—and froze.

 For as he glanced down he could see, quite plainly, that Oowada’s face was upturned towards the building opposite the club— _upturned towards him_.

 The expression on Oowada’s face was more curious than anything else, but Ishimaru didn’t have time to consider what Oowada was thinking. He grabbed his items and bolted.

 It was only later, as he lay awake on the cot he called a bed, that Ishimaru took the time to consider that perhaps Oowada had been expecting him to shoot.


	2. Rabbit Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are made and then delayed

**_Chapter Two: Rabbit Heart_ **

 The splash of tap water against his sweaty skin did a better job of rousing Ishimaru out of his tired stupor than anything else. He cupped his hands under the running faucet once more and splashed his face until his eyes were free from sleep.

 One calloused hand reached up, turning off the water tap, but the faint _drip-drip-drip_ resounded through the empty flat. Ishimaru straightened with a sigh. Running one wet hand through his limp and greasy hair, he leaned up against the sink, inspecting himself in the cracked and lopsided mirror.

 It had been an uneasy night. Half of him had been reliving the scene on the rooftop, and the other half had kept one ear cocked, listening for the inevitable break-in by the Crazy Diamonds and their thug leader, who would be looking to kill the would-be assassin.

 Except there had been no break-in and his mental replays had left him with nothing but a vague dissatisfaction. His sleepless pallor made him look gray, with swaths of shadows cutting under his dull red eyes. Groaning, Ishimaru shoved himself off of the sink and stumbled out of the tiny bathroom, into his flat proper.

 For a man who had had a once bright and prosperous future, his current living situation was abysmal. It was a one-room flat, just enough space for a cot, a chest of drawers, a mini fridge, and an old telephone. The wallpaper was an eyesore green, dulled by time and peeling in multiple places. The shades were drawn, blocking out the sounds of the city but also casting the room in dull gray light.

 Mumbling under his breath, Ishimaru dragged a wrinkled shirt out of his chest and pulled it out. Old habits died hard, however, and he spent a few minutes tugging at the shirt in a vain attempt to ease the wrinkles out.

 When his shirt look slightly more presentable, Ishimaru moved to the fridge, withdrew a carton of juice, and began to take long gulps. His stomach coiled, demanding food, and Ishimaru silently promised it he would grab a bagel from the deli down the street.

When orange juice had sated his stomach’s grumbling, the bounty hunter collapsed back onto his cot and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He held it for a moment, weighing the words in his mind, before pulling up a number and dialing.

**...**

His employer had not been pleased to find out that Mondo Oowada was still among the living, and Ishimaru had patiently received an earful before assuring the man on the other end that no, this deal wasn’t beyond his abilities, and yes, the Crazy Diamonds would be searching for a new leader before the week was out.

 Failure was not a word Ishimaru accepted into his vocabulary, even if it described him perfectly.

 And so, with the gumption that had gotten him through high school, he decided to try again.

 He spent the day shifting through old contacts and connections for some clue of Oowada’s whereabouts, and when those results proved scant he decided to go back to the nightclub that night.

 It was foolish to assume Oowada would be there—after all, in Ishimaru’s experience once a man nearly got killed in one spot he wasn’t liable to return. The best he had hoped for was some information from slovenly patrons, whether by coercion or a mild threat to have Chief Inspector Kirigiri down and around the club.

 Mondo Oowada would not be back at the club; Mondo Oowada should not have been back at the club.

 So that was why, when Ishimaru exited onto the rooftop of the building across the street from the club, the sight of a muscular frame standing at the edge was enough to stop him short.

 The sound of the iron door slamming shut didn’t garner the attention of the man, whose features were obscured by darkness. When Ishimaru’s tentative “hello” didn’t gain a response from the stranger either, Ishimaru took a few quick steps forward, tensing in case this man was about to jump.

 "You’re not supposed to be up here." Ishimaru’s voice grew taunt. "It’s against the rules."

 A short snort served as the stranger’s response.

"I’m serious! It’s very dangerous!" His voice heightened. "You need to step away from there or—"

"Or what? You gonna give me a fuckin’ detention slip? You know I always threw those away, right?"

Ishimaru froze. What little color he had drained away as Mondo slowly pivoted on the spot, flashing him a wicked grin. “Hall Monitor,” he growled. “Still chasing me after all these years.”

Blood roared in Ishimaru’s ears. He took a step backwards, even as he reached into his coat to retrieve his revolver. “What—what do you want?”

Mondo didn’t reply immediately. Instead he glanced over his shoulder once more, eying the street below. He held up a hand, forming it into the shape of a gun. He aimed his imaginary weapon downwards, firing it with a faint “ptchoo.”

Ishimaru’s grip on his hidden gun tightened.

"You had a perfect view from up here, Hall Monitor." Mondo’s voice seemed far away, distracted. "Damn good view."

_Kill him, you’re being paid big bucks to kill him, kill him now you idiot!_

But something about Mondo’s nonchalant tone had him frozen to the spot. His curiosity was too great to ignore.

"What do you want, Oowada?"

Mondo hopped down from the wall, crossing over to Ishimaru in a few swift strides. The bounty hunter stumbled backwards, starting to pull the revolver out fully, but Mondo had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him close.

"We need to talk, Hall Monitor."

"About what?”

"About why—" Mondo yanked him closer, eyes boring down on Ishimaru, "—I’m not dead yet."

Ishimaru was more prone to mental freezes than he would ever like to admit. And at that moment, with Mondo glaring daggers at him and his words ringing through his ears, his mind promptly forgot how to function (not the best trait for any bounty hunter).

"I…I…I…I…"

His stammering continued on for a minute, ending only when Mondo released him. The bigger man stepped back towards the edge of the wall, scowling down at the street. “What? Were you too busy jerking off up here to shoot?”

That snapped Ishimaru out of his stupor. He snapped to attention with his own glower. “I’d never!”

"Yeah, I figured as much." Mondo chuckled, a low, throaty chuckle that wasn’t very amused at all. "So, after all these years….the one guy who had a clear shot at me didn’t take it. And it wasn’t through any fuckin’ effort of mine. Too much of a pussy?" He threw the comment over his shoulder towards Ishimaru, who bristled but did not reply. Mondo snorted and turned back to his impromptu companion once more. "I’ve got questions for you, Hall Monitor. And you better answer."

His hidden gun felt heavy and hot against his chest. Ishimaru considered drawing it, firing, but he couldn’t entertain the notion for long, because Mondo had withdrawn his own weapon—a knife—and tossed it to the ground. It landed with a clatter some feet away. “Not interested in killing you, Hall Monitor. Too much effort away.” He flashed another macabre grin, waiting for Ishimaru to respond.

Curiousity had killed the cat, but it had yet to kill an Ishimaru.

Slowly the bounty hunter withdrew his gun. He set it on the rooftop, much more carefully than Mondo had his, and kicked it away. It went spinning off to join the gangster’s knife.

He breathed out before glancing back towards Mondo. “What do you want, Oowada?”

"I already told you, numb-nuts, I’ve got questions for you."

They began to circle each other in a predatory fashion. Despite the temporary truce, both tensed in fight-or-flight instinct as they carefully moved around the rooftop, eyes fixed on each other. Mondo spoke first:

"Right about now I should be locked in some godforsaken freezer waitin’ to be picked apart by a coroner. Instead, I’m here. Question is: why?"

"Do you have a death wish?"

"This ain’t twenty questions. Answer me."

"I’ll answer yours if you answer mine. It’s only fair."

Ishimaru noted the temporary flicker of emotion across Mondo’s face. Here was a man who had expected to die, and yet had not, and now was expected to reveal some enormous truth he had hoped to die with him. Ishimaru, sensing his momentary advantage, risked a step closer to Mondo.

The gangster glowered. “For weeks now I’ve been hearing rumors. Tellin’ me some fucker has it out for me, tellin’ me I gotta watch my back because there might be a bullet in it if I don’t. I’ve survived before…what, you didn’t think you had the honor of being the first to take a shot at the legendary Mondo Oowada, did you?” He smirked as surprise flicked over Ishimaru’s features. “No. But those other attempts…those, I survived because I was stronger than they were. But you? You got the jump on me. I didn’t see you comin’, ‘til the last second, and then…” he trailed off, his smirk sliding away. “Nothin’. I didn’t survive because I was better than you. I survived because you didn’t have the balls to shoot. That’s no way to be a man—surviving off of other people’s pity.”

He spat the last word out as though it were something disgusting. Ishimaru felt bile rise in his throat. “I don’t pity you, and I certainly didn’t yesterday night. You’re a criminal, and you deserve to die—GARGH!”

Mondo had struck out, unexpectedly, and punched Ishimaru in the jaw. The smaller, skinnier man went flying backwards, howling as fiery pain exploding across his jaw. The coppery taste of blood was in his mouth.

Through the ringing in his head he heard Mondo roaring at him and he reflexively jumped out of the way, snapping his leg up and into Mondo’s stomach as the bigger man’s momentum carried him forward.

Mondo crumpled, swearing, and Ishimaru’s boot smashed into his temple. He collapsed on his side, grunting as Ishimaru straddled him. “You,” Ishimaru spat, “cheated.”

"You should’ve seen that comin’." Mondo’s teeth were stained red as he leered up at Ishimaru. He grimaced as Ishimaru’s hands locked around his throat, squeezing slightly.

"You want to know why you’re still alive?" Ishimaru snarled. "Because you were doing the public a favor."

And just like that the hands came off of Mondo’s throat. Ishimaru’s weight came off of his chest.

Ishimaru stood, dusted himself off, and gave his swelling jaw a good rub before continuing for the suddenly speechless Mondo: “You could have let those ruffians drive off drunk. You could have let them kill other people through their recklessness! But you didn’t. You did a favor to the public. So I did a favor by letting you live.”

The words coming out of his mouth were cold, logical, and followed a simple train of thought: Mondo had done a good deed, and a good deed had been done unto him.

To tell Mondo the truth of the matter—to tell him that seeing a criminal perform such a selfless act had rendered him immobile and conflicted—would have been too much.

Ishimaru turned his back on Mondo, striding over to retrieve his gun, and for that reason it took him a bit longer to hear the soft laughter behind him.

Mondo had crawled up to rest on his elbows and knees. Blood trickled down from his mouth, splattering the ground as he laughed. He wrenched himself up onto his knees, grinning at Ishimaru. “Still just a fuckin’ glorified hall monitor. You thought I was doing that for the good of the public? I don’t give two shits about the public, man.”

And there it was again—that hot, wrenching confusion and muted horror that overwhelmed Ishimaru. His gun was idle in his hands.

Mondo used his overlarge sleeve to wipe some of the blood from his chin. He looked Ishimaru up and down, as if he didn’t know what to do with him—despite the fact that he was the one kneeling on the ground and Ishimaru was the one with the gun.

"You’re an odd one, Kiyotaka Ishimaru. That much I remember from high school. So, you gonna kill me now or what?"

His name. Mondo remembered his name?!

Ishimaru swallowed hard. “I—”

"BOSS!"

The iron door behind Ishimaru banged open. He had just enough time to pivot on his heel, to start to raise his gun in defense, before a very small, very angry bug bit him in the head.

**…**

 The crack of gunfire in the distance sent Kazuichi Souda to his feet. His hair—an ugly, garish pink—swung around him in a curtain as his head darted from side-to-side, looking for the source. “D-did you hear that?”

“Yes. Calm down, will you?” Gundam Tanaka leaned back against the metal stairwell he was sitting on, picking absentmindedly at a cuticle.

Souda bit at his well-worn and stubby fingernails. “What if it’s… _her_?” He glanced around again, as if expecting someone to burst from the shadows of the alleyway they had parked themselves in.

“Then she is a complete fool for showing up here when Oowada is nearby,” Tanaka snorted. “Oowada is fully capable of destroying her. And if he fails…I will take his place!” He began to flex and un-flex a bandage-covered hand, flashing Souda a sadistic grin.

“Quit the act, man, everybody knows you can’t do black magic.” Souda shook his head in a resigned sort of way. He began to pace back and forth in front of his motorcycle. “Think the Boss is okay?”

“He can handle himself.”

“Yeah, but if he gets himself killed doin’ something stupid…” Souda’s voice trailed off.

Mondo Oowada was currently the only person in the world who could keep himself and Tanaka safe. And if Oowada was suddenly and violently indisposed…he and Tanaka were done for.

Tanaka grunted and hoisted himself up off of the stairwell, tugging at his scarf. “I’ll be right back.”

“Wha—where are you going?!”

“To answer nature’s call, of course!” Tanaka rolled his eyes as the skittish Souda jumped forward. “Unless you wish to accompany me and be in awe of my manhood…”

Souda shuddered. “Don’t call it that! Gross, man. _Gross_.” He turned away, pretending he didn’t hear Tanaka’s soft laughter as the animal breeder-slash-mage-slash-gangster rounded the corner. He took to biting his fingernails again, occasionally twitching at some noise in the dark alley.

It hadn’t been a gunshot, Souda attempted to assure himself, it had been a car backfiring. Or some kids setting off bottle rockets. Maybe something big had just fallen over. Not a gunshot. There was no danger here.

All of his nails had been worn to fine nubs by the time he realized Tanaka had been gone for far too long.

He’d probably gotten distracted by some stray cat, Souda reasoned, or maybe a pigeon with a broken wing. Tanaka was always wandering off after animals like that.

Still…

Still, there was silence around Souda, the heavy, oppressive silence that predators used to their advantage. The hair on his neck and arms stood at full attention and his breathing hitched. “TANAKA!”

He started forward, shoving his hands into his pockets. “TANAKA, YOU BASTARD, THIS ISN’T FUNNY! WHERE’RE YOU!? Look, I’m sorry I said that you can’t do black magic! You totally can, man, honest! You’re the best wizard ever! T-Tanaka?—TANAKA!”

 Tanaka lay sprawled among trash, blood oozing from his forehead. And over him stood a figure hidden in the shadows, a female figure whose wicked grin shone in the darkness. Around her prowled masked people who focused their gaze on Souda as he took a step backwards, instinct taking over even though he knew he had nowhere to run.

“I—I—”

“Good evening, Kazuichi. Haven’t you missed us?”

**…**

He was quite convinced he was dead.

So when he finally wrenched open his eyes and the full profile of Makoto Naegi stared down at him, the first sensation that overwhelmed him was crushing despair.

"Oh, Naegi. You’re dead too?"

That earned a laugh from the apparition, who shook his head. “Not quite. Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Ishimaru stared at Naegi, and then at the glaringly white ceiling past Naegi. “I’m in the hospital.”

Naegi’s mouth twitched upwards. “Very good.”

"Why am I in the hospital?"

"Someone dumped you by the front entrance. You were unconscious and bleeding pretty badly. The good news is, you’re gonna live and you’ve got quite the scar to show off."

Following the movement of Naegi’s eyes, Ishimaru reached up and fingered the stitches running along the side of his head. He’d only been grazed by a bullet, then. Not dead.

A breath of relief escaped him before he looked back to the similarly-relieved Naegi. “What are you doing here?”

"I’m first in your emergency contacts."

"I didn’t put you in my emergency contacts!"

"No. Kirigiri did."

Ishimaru snorted and muttered under his breath about Kirigiri respecting the public’s right to privacy. Secretly he was glad for the company.

Naegi tilted his head to the side. “D’you wanna tell me what happen?”

"No."

Naegi nodded (Ishimaru had always liked that quality about Naegi—he knew when to leave things alone) before snapping his fingers. “Oh, this note was with you. For your eyes only.” He withdrew it from his pocket and handed it off to Ishimaru.

There was an unspoken acknowledgment that Naegi had already read the note, but Ishimaru was willing to let things slide for his only friend. At least, just once.

He flipped the note open, scanning the words with a furrowed brow and gritted teeth:

_You made a man’s promise, Hall Monitor._

_Catch me if you can._

_p.s.: You got blood on my coat and you owe me for dry-cleaning._


	3. Rush Rush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author demonstrates an encyclopedic knowledge of Brian de Palma's Scarface

**Chapter Three: Rush Rush**

Sometimes sleep and consciousness had no clearly defined lines. One minute, Ishimaru was plunging to his death over the edge of a building, air roaring in his ears and a scream caught in his throat—and the next, he was shooting straight up out of his cot, wrestling with the blankets knotted around him.

He kicked most of the offending covers away before falling back into bed, attempting to catch his breath. Part of his mind was still free-falling through the abyss, and it took a herculean effort to wrench it back into the present.

He took to staring at the ceiling, imaging shapes in the stains and bumps. He had made a cat, a bunny, an alien (if he squinted enough), and a lopsided bear before his heart rate eased back to normal.

It had been a week since his rooftop encounter with Oowada, and while the bullet wound had been healing nicely, the nightmares had not.

The digital clock on his phone flashed 8:00 am. Groaning, Ishimaru hoisted himself up into a sitting position, staring straight ahead with glazed eyes.

He was not looking forward to today.

Oowada and his gang had virtually disappeared off of the map, an astonishing feat considering the sheer size of the Crazy Diamonds. No one had seen hide nor hair of them in nearly a week. They were gone from their usual bar haunts, parking lots, and alleyways. No security camera had caught sight of them, no civil complained of their motorcycles roaring through the streets at half-past-go-the-fuck-to-sleep. It was if they had just up and vanished.

With his employer breathing down his neck and no leads to be had, Ishimaru had reluctantly turned to his last and most terrifying asset: Chief Inspector Kyouko Kirigiri.

If she couldn't find Mondo Oowada, nobody would be able to find Mondo Oowada.

She had agreed to meet him for lunch this afternoon (not, he suspected, as a favor to him, but rather a favor to Naegi) and discuss what he needed.

_Catch me if you can._

Oowada's taunt rang in his ears loud and clear, and yet the most Ishimaru could feel for the gangster was an intense indignation.

Ishimaru was convinced Oowada had saved his life because it was beneficial to him—to make him squirm and hesitate even further. Well, he wasn't going to rise to that bait; he was going to throw the change for dry-cleaning in Mondo's face and then shoot him.

And the very least, that's what Ishimaru told himself.

In reality, there was a tiny piece of doubt, stuck in his mind the way a piece of kernel got caught in his teeth—nagging, annoying, and occasionally painful if he tried to dislodge it. He was far less trouble to Oowada dead, and yet the gangster had spared him. Why? Could there be some other motive behind his act of mercy?

He maneuvered out his bed, slowly, and staggered up and over to the fridge. He yawned, daydreaming of eggs, before yanking the fridge open.

Empty.

Frowning, Ishimaru slapped the fridge shut, staggered back over to his cot, and stooped to retrieve his wallet.

A few coins clattered together pitifully.

Ishimaru sighed and pocketed his wallet, looking out the small window without really seeing the city outside it.

He needed Mondo Oowada dead, and soon. If not to soothe his conscience, than to sooth his grumbling stomach.

**…**

Although Ishimaru would be loathed to admit it, Kirigiri terrified him. So he spent several minutes hovering outside the restaurant, studying the wax models of food on display intently.

He only edged inside when the soft pitter-patter of rain started around him, and thunder rolled in the display.

He spotted Kirigiri instantly and waved away the waitress who offered him a seat, indicating Kirigiri silently. The waitress nodded and suppressed a giggle (Ishimaru had no idea what was so funny) before leaving him be.

Kirigiri did not look up as Ishimaru sat down beside her. Her eyes were focused on some report she was reading, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of green tea.

Ishimaru had no desire to wrest her out of her thoughts, and so took to staring out the window. The rain was coming down hard and fast now, in a sideways sleet that drove people indoors.

He'd taken to counting the seconds between lightning bolt and thunder roll when Kirigiri finally spoke:

"She thinks we're a couple, you know."

"Wha—who?!"

"The waitress. She's been watching us the whole time."

A fiery red blush crept up Ishimaru's neck and settled around his cheeks. He glanced towards the entrance, only to see the waitress glancing towards him. She giggled, blushed, and looked away, and that just intensified Ishimaru's mortification.

"Don't worry, Naegi will be joining us in a bit. That should knock her out of it. Or maybe," she took a sip of tea, eyes still cast downwards, "she'll think we're planning a threesome."

It was unfortunate for Ishimaru that he had just taken a long gulp of water, for it came spewing back out of his mouth. He set the glass down with excess force and wiped at his mouth, hissing for Kirigiri to show some decency.

Kirigiri finally consented to meet his eyes, smirking a bit.

Ishimaru was spared further embarrassment by the merciful appearance of Naegi, who flopped down beside Kirigiri, shaking wet drops out of his hair as he did so. "Weather's crazy out there! You okay, Ishimaru?"

"He's fine. We were just getting started." Kirigiri slipped her report back into her bag and folded her hands in front of her. The smirk was still playing around her lips as Ishimaru fought to keep embarrassment to a minimum.

Ishimaru gritted his teeth. "I was wondering if you could help me—"

"—find Mondo Oowada."

Ishimaru blinked, stared at Kirigiri, and jumped forward in a flash of anger and realization. "Stop monitoring my phone calls!"

"Stop giving me reasons to monitor your phone calls."

Naegi cut in before Ishimaru could retort: "Hang on, you're looking for Mondo?"

Ishimaru's job was no secret to Naegi (and therefore no secret to Kirigiri) but up until this moment Naegi had always reserved judgment for his friend's career path. Now he ogled Ishimaru fully.

Feeling slightly betrayed by Naegi's tone of voice, Ishimaru shifted in his seat. "Yes," he snapped, "I'm looking for Oowada. He disappeared about a week ago. No sign of him anywhere."

Kirigiri sighed into her tea. "Only because you've been searching the same five spots. If you want to catch him, you're going to have to expand your social horizons."

"To include…?"

"To include the only man who currently has any information on the whereabouts the Crazy Diamonds." Kirigiri signaled to the waitress that she was ready to order.

Ishimaru leaned forward, hope rekindled. "And that is?"

"Leon Kuwata."

Ishimaru's stomach plummeted to his feet and then shot straight up into his throat. In any other circumstance he might have taken a moment to appreciate the odd sensation. As it was, he was too despaired to as he sank back into his seat.

"Leon Kuwata…the kingpin?"

Kirigiri nodded and Ishimaru moaned. He stood, muttering under his breath about stepping outside for a cigarette, and left the table in a hurry.

Leon Kuwata, he mused as he drew a cigarette from the pack. Of all the people in all the world, it  _had_  to be him.

It could not be said of Kuwata that he had led a boring life thus far: the infamous redhead had rose and fallen as Hope's Peak premier baseball star, only to turn his attention to music when he realized that girls liked rock stars, not baseball players. After a brief stint with the idol Sayaka Maizono—a brief stint that became notorious for the love-hate relationship between the two stars—Kuwata had vanished from the public eye. It was only in the past few years he had skyrocketed in infamy once more as the head of drug syndicate. How he had gotten there was as much myth as it was mystery, but Kuwata himself was no mystery to Ishimaru.

Smug, stubborn, hot-tempered,  _lazy_. He should have put a bullet in Kuwata's head in by now.

But he couldn't. Because, however much he hated the man, Kuwata was currently the only man who knew where Oowada was.

For an instant he wrestled with the idea of refusing Kirigiri's help, of striking back out on his own, if only to avoid being in Kuwata's debt. The last thing he needed now, on top of his current worries, was Kuwata lording over him.

But…

_Catch me if you can._

_Fine._ Ishimaru gritted his teeth. But it didn't mean he had to play nice.

**…**

Ishimaru brooded through lunch, brooded as Kirigiri hailed a taxi, brooded through the long and silent ride to the pier, and brooded as Naegi all but dragged him out of the backseat.

Kirigiri ignored Naegi's assurances that nothing would go wrong, striding across the front of the cab towards a seemingly empty warehouse. As Naegi hauled the taller Ishimaru out of the cab (the driver watching in faint amusement), Kirigiri rapped on the side of the warehouse twice.

After a moment the door to the warehouse opened. Out popped the head of a grizzled man, frowning at the impassive Kirigiri, the shyly smiling Naegi, and the sullen Ishimaru. "What do you—"

Kirigiri passed him a slip of paper. "I have an appointment with Kuwata."

"Huh." The bodyguard read over the note with eyebrows arched. "Wish the boss would tell me when we had dames comin' around. Go. He's in his office." He stepped aside, allowing the trio full access to the warehouse and its stores.

Ishimaru.

Was.

_Horrified._

The heels of his black boots dug hopelessly into the tile floor as Naegi tugged him along. His eyes bulged out of his head. His jaw dropped. He temporarily forgot how to breathe, for his mind was overwhelmed by disgust. He was surrounded on all sides by immorality and corruption, the lone pillar of morale against a storm of vice.

"Relax." Kirigiri ran a gloved finger along one of the long worktables, inspecting the pure white powder that stuck to it. "It's just cocaine."

Ishimaru stammered madly, demanding to know how Kirigiri, as an officer of the law, could allow this to pass. She tuned him out, moving deftly through the maze of cocaine-stuffed bags and tables where criminals sat, carefully weighing the stuff. All gave her a leering look as she passed, but Kirigiri was as oblivious to them as she was Ishimaru's spluttering.

" _This—is—illegal_!"

Naegi winced as Ishimaru's hot, heavy breathing filled his ear. The lawyer had a firm grip on Ishimaru's coat, the only thing that kept him from bolting. "Will you please just trust Kirigiri? She knows what she's doing."

Ishimaru swallowed his protests. He focused instead on picturing this place being burned to the ground—it was oddly cathartic.

The Germans had a word for happiness at the misery of others, and that was Schadenfreude. And the further into the warehouse they moved, the more Schadenfreude consumed Ishimaru. It was becoming more and more apparent that he wasn't the only Hope's Peak graduate whose dreams had crashed and burned.

"Yeah, yeah, no—no listen to me, listen you moron! Listen carefully, okay. I have full storage unit of the goods ready to go, and nothing is going to stop it from going out, all right? Not even the goddamn Apoca—Kirigiri."

And as Leon snapped his phone shut, Ishimaru's Schadenfreude shriveled up and died.

The kingpin might still have been shorter than Ishimaru, but that was the only advantage Ishimaru had on him. Kuwata was as fit as he had been in high school, his barreled chest bared from beneath the striking white suit he wore. His hair and goatee were still dyed fiery, unmistakable red. A long, jagged scar ran down the right side of his face, but this only seemed to enhance the image of Kuwata's toughness. Rings adorned his fingers and beads clattered from his goatee as he tilted his head to the side. His eyes flickered from Kirigiri to Naegi, widening in shock. "Shit, you brought your lawyer boyfriend?! What the hell, are you trying to get me killed?! And who's  _this_  douchebag?!"

"Kuwata—"

"SHHH!"

The men around Kuwata were looking to the trio suddenly, interest piqued. Kuwata scowled and opened the wooden door behind him, jerking his head to indicate that they should get inside.

They entered the room and Ishimaru had to conceal his growl as their shoes sank into soft carpet. Kuwata's office was the sort of office that should have belonged to an executive in a high-rise building; it was plush and fancy and designed to show off power.

Kuwata glared at the trio as he slammed the door shut. "Kirigiri," he managed through gritted teeth, "you know my name."

Kirigiri blinked slowly, folding her hands behind her back. "My apologies—" a corner of her mouth twitched upwards "—Scarface."

"That's better." Kuwata maneuvered around them. "I gotta protect my reputation, y'know." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slid towards the liquor cabinet. "Can I get you anything? No?" He cocked his eyebrow when the trio shook their heads. "Fine."

He set to making himself a drink. "You never answered my question. Who's the douchebag?"

"Kiyotaka Ishimaru."

Kuwata's head snapped up once. He looked back over his shoulder, stunned. "Hall Monitor? Where's your Nazi arm band?"

Ishimaru's temper snapped. "THAT WAS NOT A NAZI ARM BAND AND YOU KNOW IT, KUWATA! AND YOU SHOULD BE ONE TO TALK, SNORTING COCAINE AND SELLING DRUGS TO CHILDREN ON THE STREET—"

Kuwata held up his hands in a gesture of self-defense. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, man. Whoa. One, the name's Scarface." He tapped the scarred side of his face to emphasize it. "Two, I never sell nothin' to kids. Three, the number one rule in this business is—" he downed his first glass of amber liquid "— _never_ get high on your own supply. You best start playin' nice if you want whatever you're here for." He turned away again, pouring himself another drink and allowing Ishimaru a moment to collect himself.

The kingpin moved from his liquor cabinet to his desk. He collapsed in his swivel chair, spinning around once in a playful fashion. "Are we ready to start discussing things like adults?"

Ishimaru gritted his teeth and nodded.

"Good. So, who or what do you want?"

Kirigiri looked to Ishimaru. "We'll leave that to you. Naegi, come on. I thought I saw one of your former clients out there." She took Naegi by the hand and led him out before he could even think to wish Ishimaru "good luck".

Kuwata scowled as the door slammed shut. "She's gonna arrest half of my men."

"Kuwata— _Scarface_ —I'm looking for Mondo Oowada."

"Oowada?" The name wrenched Kuwata's focus from Kirigiri's antics to Ishimaru. "What for?"

"He and I have some…unfinished business to attend to."

"You mean like putting a bullet in his head? Yeah, Oowada told me." Kuwata smirked when Ishimaru frowned. "Nothing like pot calling the kettle black, eh, Hall Monitor?"

Ishimaru ignored the dig, stepping forward towards Kuwata's cluttered desk. "You've heard from him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, are you going to tell me where he is?"

"No."

"Why not?!"

"Because Oowada and I are close, okay? And I don't feel like being the one who put a good man in his grave." Kuwata took a sip of his drink, frowning up at Ishimaru.

Ishimaru's eyes widened in horror. "Are you and he business partners?!"

"What? Fuck no, man. Mondo won't touch any of this stuff. He and I are just old friends. Oh, right." Kuwata's face brightened in a mocking realization. "You didn't have any of those."

"Is friendship," Ishimaru spat the word out, "the reason why you and Kirigiri are on such good terms?"

"Nah man. That's just good business. I give her little tips and tricks from the underworld, she arrests my competition. All the big fish gotta be gone from the pond if cute little fishes like me wanna survive." He shot Ishimaru a teeth-filled grin that was more akin to a shark's than a cute little fish's. He settled back in his chair, the very picture of control. "So, try again. Why do you need to find Oowada?"

"I—" Nostrils flaring, Ishimaru began to pace the length of Kuwata's desk. The truth, he realized, was going to have to come out, one way or another. "Oowada saved my life. I need to find out why."

"Shit, Hall Monitor. You and Mondo need to stop this 'sparing each other's lives' thing. Doesn't look good for either of you." Eyes cast downwards, Kuwata began to tap his finger against his glass, the metal band of his rings going tink-tink-tink. He was acutely aware of Ishimaru's agitated pacing. After a few minutes of careful consideration, he glanced up. "You ain't so bad, Hall Monitor. So I'll give you this. You know anything about the Monochromes?"

Ishimaru froze in his pacing.

"Yeah, thought so. Rumor has it the night you and Mondo were doin' your rooftop samba the Monochromes grabbed a few members of the Crazy Diamonds. Young guys, new guys. Poor fuckers." He rattled around the ice in his drink, eyes flashing. "From what I understand, these two guys had defected from the Monochromes and joined up the Diamonds. Crazy move, if you ask me, but there you go. But, as you might suspect, Junko Enoshima doesn't take any betrayal lyin' down. Whatever she's got planned for those two ain't gonna be pretty."

Ishimaru considered this new information. "So the Monochromes and the Crazy Diamonds are at war?"

"Seems so. That's why they're layin' low. Can't afford to lose anyone else. Mondo's beside himself, y'know. Blames himself for lettin' them get kidnapped. He was supposed to be protecting them and all that, y'know? So he's lookin' for a rumble with Enoshima. And soon."

Ishimaru digested this information in silence.

"If I get the info on the when and the where, you gotta promise me you'll put a bullet in Junko Enoshima's head."

"What's it to you?"

Kuwata's eyebrows arched. "Enoshima is a rabid, crazy bitch. The sooner she's outta the picture the better off we'll all be. And then, you and Mondo can go back to your Wile E. Coyote and Road Runner routine."

"Who and who?"

Kuwata sighed loudly and waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Never mind. All right, I told you all I can for now. If I hear anything else my people will contact your people."

"I…don't have people." Ishimaru's tone was more confused than confessionary.

"Aargh. Forget it. Go. Shoo." Kuwata flicked his hand towards the door. "I'm a very busy guy."

Ishimaru snapped his arms to his side and bowed towards Kuwata. "Thank you."

"Eh, it's nothin' really. What's a favor for an old classmate, huh?" Kuwata waited until Ishimaru had opened the door to speak once more: "Hey, Ishimaru…"

Ishimaru turned on his heel, eyebrow arched.

Kuwata raised his glass in a faint salute before speaking, his tone warning:

"Rule number two: everyday above ground is a good day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think so far? Yes, no, maybe so? Lemme know! :3


	4. Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which certain people do not try to kill each other

**Chapter Four: Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)**

Four soft, padded paws trotted over the twisted mountain of blankets. A small black nose snuffled along the outline of a large, snoring figure. Beady little eyes fixed on the snoozing man expectantly, fluffy little tail whapping against the covers.

A faint whine escaped the puppy when his person didn’t respond. He clambered up onto his person’s chest and began to lick his nose.

“Nnnergh, CJ…CJ stoooop, lemme sleep…”

The puppy woofed.

“Shaddup. Lemme sleep. I mean it, CJ. Five more minutes.”

The puppy, CJ, seemed to huff and consented to curl up at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on his dozing person. Not more than thirty seconds had passed, however, before a blaring music tune rang through the room.

Mondo Oowada’s head jerked upwards out of his pillow, drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth. His sleep-coated eyes locked on the buzzing cell phone on his nightstand. “For fuck’s sake…” Fighting the urge to bury his head under his comfy pillow once more, he grabbed his cell and rolled over to stare the ceiling.

“’lo?”

“Mondo! Rise and shine, sleepyhead!”

Mondo closed his eyes and growled. “Leon. Do you even know what time it is?”

“It’s eight in the morning.” Kuwata’s cheery tone dropped like a stone. “Time to get up.”

Mondo planted a hand on his cheek and began to rub it. “Go fuck yourself. What is it with you athlete types and early mornings?”

“Time is money, man.” Kuwata suddenly sounded smug, and Mondo could just picture him, seated at that obnoxious desk of his with a day’s worth of illegal activities ahead. “Anyways, pay attention. We’ve got shit to discuss.”

“I took a nice long one last night.” Mondo rolled over onto his stomach, chuckling as Kuwata groaned. CJ padded over to him, snuggling under his arm. He reached up, rubbing behind the Maltese’s fluffy ears.

“Haha, very funny. Fine, if you don’t wanna hear what I gotta say then I’m gonna hang up.”

“C’mon, Leon, don’t pout.” Mondo clucked his tongue.

Kuwata sighed in an exasperated fashion. “All right. So, you’re never gonna guess who came by the warehouse yesterday.” He waited a beat, but couldn’t resist the urge to gossip: “Ishimaru.”

“Kiyotaka?”

“No, Ishimaru the Prime Minister. _Of course Kiyotaka_! He was lookin’ for you.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Mondo, I appreciate your whole ‘death wish’ thing, but try not to be so flaky about it, okay? You’re gonna be disappointed anyway. He’s not lookin’ to shoot you. Just wants to talk.”

Mondo frowned a bit. That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. Then again, he probably shouldn’t have expected anything else from the former hall monitor. He cursed under his breath before replying to the silent Kuwata: “Why?”

“Oh, gee, I dunno, you save the life of the guy who’s trying to kill you. WHY THE FUCK ELSE WOULD HE WANT TO TALK TO YOU?!”

Mondo winced as Kuwata’s roar rang through his sleep-fuzzy mind. He sat back, allowing Kuwata to scold him loudly: “You and Ishimaru gotta quit it with this honor-bound killer code! All you two are gonna accomplish is  runnin’ around in circles and nothin’ is gonna get bruised ‘cept egos. Then you’ll start bonding and _ugh_ …Sayaka made me watch this movie with this exact same plot, dude, and let me tell you I am not going to you two’s wedding!”

That snapped Mondo out of his hazy stupor. He sat up sharply, scowling into his receiver. “Get fucked, Leon!”

“I did last night.” The smugness was back in Kuwata’s voice. “And man, she was fiiiiine.”

“Get. On. With. It.”

Kuwata, recognizing that he had pushed Mondo’s buttons too many times in too few minutes, swallowed and muttered about how Mondo had been a lot more fun before he decided he was sick of the world. He was silent for a minute, no doubt fiddling with his suit, before adopting a more business-like tone: “I told Ishimaru about your issue with the Monochromes.”

Just the name inspired a flare of ugly heat in Mondo’s stomach. “Go on.”

“And I told him if he was gonna kill you, he might as well put a bullet in that bitch’s head too. And then I got to thinking. You know how good I am at putting coalitions together, right?”

“No.”

“Well I am. So I got to thinking, right, that maybe you could convince Ishimaru to work with you to take down the Monochromes. And then you’ll be free from worries and can happily take your bullet in the head.”

Mondo shifted, resting his chin in his hand. He turned the proposal over and over in his mind. Ishimaru was good at keeping in the shadows, he’d seen that firsthand. And if someone could take a clear shot at the leader of the Monochromes while someone else distracted her…mulling it over, he finally answered Kuwata with a wry: “I thought I was the one being flaky about my death wish.”

“Hey, I’m pickin’ up behavior from you. So…what do you think?”

“Of me and Ishimaru working together? It’s stupid.”

“Of course it is.”

“And it just might work.”

“Of course it will!”

“Tell Ishimaru to meet me in the public park this afternoon.”

“Sure thing, man.”

“And, er…thanks, Leon.”

“No problem. Between you and the Hall Monitor, I have a feeling things are about to get very interesting.”

**…**

CJ immensely enjoyed his walk to the park, tail puffed and ears cocked for compliments from cooing women. Unfortunately CJ’s terrifying-looking person kept most of his admirers at bay. So instead he opted for chasing falling leaves and looping his leash around Mondo’s legs.

Mondo would occasionally compliment or scold CJ for0 some stunt. Most of the time, though, he stared straight ahead, lost in thought. The idea of working with the man who was supposed to kill him intrigued him. If Ishimaru would agree to it, that would solve most of his problems right then and there. And if he didn’t, well…

A death wish, Leon had called it.

If it were only that simple.

The back of his neck prickled, and he was overwhelmed with the sensation that someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as a figure in a dark jacket moved through the trees towards him.

Ishimaru stopped short in his tracks. He and Mondo maintained eye contact for a moment longer. Than Mondo stood, clucking his tongue for CJ to follow him. He covered the distance between himself and Ishimaru in several strides, stopping short just inches from him.

The silence between them was deafening, drowning out the noise of the city around them. Mondo cocked his head to the side, smiled, and then offered what was perhaps the oddest greeting in the history of predator and prey:

“So, how do you like your coffee?”

**…**

As it turned out, Ishimaru took his coffee with ten creams and ten sugars.

Scratch that, eleven sugars.

The bounty hunter shook the little sugar packet for all it was worth, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in intense concentration. Tiny crystals of sugar tumbled into the coffee that had long since turned gray.

Mondo watched him out of the corner of his eye. His own steaming coffee was black. “So…got the coffee taste out of it yet?”

Ishimaru shot him a glare, pursed his lips, and made no comment. He finally took a sip of his coffee—grimacing at the still-bitter taste—and returned to staring straight ahead.

That he was receiving the silent treatment from Ishimaru didn’t overly shock Mondo. In fact, he was glad Ishimaru was consenting to this meeting at all. He remembered the black-haired, red-eyed young man’s ethics from high school very well—never got into trouble, never hung around with anyone would might be in the “wrong” crowd, always sorting the world into black and white. He, Mondo, was a bad person, and it was no doubt a herculean effort on Ishimaru’s part just to sit on the bench with him.

Mondo could respect a man who stuck to his principles. Even if those principles had gotten him beaten up more than once.

Suddenly his mind flashed backwards to the image of a much younger Ishimaru stumbling into Calculus five minutes late, his pristine school uniform splattered with mud and a bloodied lip making him wince as he hastily apologized to the bemused professor. He had clutched his dirtied books to his chest in a protective fashion even as he slunk towards his seat in the front row.

The memory made Mondo wince, even if he hadn’t been responsible.

Well, he hadn’t been responsible _that_ time.

Realizing that he and Ishimaru had been far too silent far too long, he coughed and shifted on the park bench they’d settled down on. CJ was settled on his feet, snoring contently.

Ishimaru glanced down at the Maltese, lips still pressed together firmly. The image of a cute little white dog resting on the big black boots of a thug just confused and frustrated him further. This wasn’t like Kuwata, who had turned corruption into an art form. Oowada was more subdued, restrained, a very different man from the one who had confronted him on the rooftop.

“You have a nice dog,” he finally muttered. The instant the words left his mouth he inwardly grimaced. Did people say stuff like that? Was it possible to have a ‘nice’ dog?

“Thanks.” Mondo shifted again, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “How’s your coffee?”

“Much better. Uh…” he coughed into his super-sweet coffee, “er, Oowada…I believe I owe you for dry-cleaning.” His hand dug into his pocket and withdrew some spare change, offering it to Mondo.

The gangster waved the proffered cash away. “Relax, man. I was just messing with you.”

Nonetheless the money was shoved under his nose. Ishimaru was staring at him; giving him that same look he had given students who were late to class. Intimidated by the intense gaze, Mondo scooped up the change and pocketed it.

“Oowada.”

“Hm?"

“Why did you…”

“Take you the hospital?”

Ishimaru nodded. Mondo paused, and then shrugged. “It’s more convenient to keep you alive.”

No reason to get Ishimaru tangled up in his inner demons. Keep it short, keep it simple.

“I…see…” Ishimaru’s tone revealed that he hardly saw it at all. The bounty hunter frowned. His grip on his paper coffee cup tightened. He looked down into it, seeing his reflection in the murky gray liquid. “Oowada…”

“Kuwata thinks we should work together to take out the Monochromes.”

Mondo spoke quickly, as if he were confessing something heinous. His hands curled into his fists and his eyes flashed with fury. “And I agree with him. The Monochromes messed with my boys. They’ve been a pain in my ass for years now, but this…this crossed a line.” Fury and frustration  in his chest, rumbling through his body like a motor. “They gotta go, and that bitch Junko is gonna pay.”

Ishimaru looked up from his coffee musings. His mouth edged downwards into a grimace. He knew the reputation of the Monochromes: an unruly, unpredictable band of thugs and miscreants who seemed to have no motive except for causing chaos. “Kuwata mentioned that he wanted me to…ah…” Unwilling to repeat Kuwata’s exact words, he mimed firing a gun.

Mondo nodded. “Yeah. That’s why we should work together. Nobody’s been able to able to get even close to her. But you…you don’t need to get close to her, do you?” He tilted his head to the side, suddenly intrigued. “None of my boys have fancy toys like you do, Hall Monitor. That sniper rifle of yours…high-powered, right?”

Ishimaru nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. If there was anything he could take away with pride from his job, it was his proficiency with a rifle.

Mondo licked his lips, thinking hard. “If I could draw her out…and you were somewhere nearby…”

“Oowada…are you offering me a contract?”

Mondo’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He looked back to Ishimaru, who looked serious. “If you’re offering me a contract, I’ll need to get it in writing.”

A short, barking laugh—almost like a dog’s—escaped Mondo. “We’re gonna do this the right fuckin’ way, then?”

Ishimaru nodded. His mouth thinned into a straight line. “And once we take out the Monochromes, I get to shoot you. I made a promise to my employer that I would.”

“Fair enough. Only a coward goes back on his promise.”

The cavalier attitude Mondo took towards his own imminent demise took Ishimaru by surprise. He swallowed the urge to comment on it, however, and instead proffered his own hand. “I’ll get the contract written up this afternoon.”

Mondo grinned. His shoulders slumped in relief and suddenly his eyes were shining. He grabbed Ishimaru’s hand and pumped it up and down enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan, Hall Monitor.”

It was only later, as Ishimaru considered the wording of the contract he was about to write, that he wondered if Mondo’s elation had less to do with Junko’s death and more to do with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the great feedback thus far, guys! :3


	5. Professional Griefers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author updates after forgetting to.

_**Chapter 5: Professional Griefers** _

He hated to admit it, but something about the intrigue of a double-assignment re-energized Ishimaru. Excitement—something he hadn’t felt in a long time—had him rolling to the tips of his toes at odd times.

It was occurring to him now just how depressing his living conditions were. He spent one full day scrubbing his flat from top to bottom, throwing open the windows and taking a full shopping trip to the local market to buy food. After he had ironed and pressed all of his clothes, rearranged his furniture, called his mother, and completed a Sudoku puzzle, Ishimaru was feeling very accomplished indeed.

His general exuberance could be put down to the fact that he had something now that he had had not had in a very long time: something to look forward to.

Admittedly, that something was a dangerous mission to take out a very dangerous woman, but considering the circumstances Ishimaru couldn’t be picky.

He was sprawled out on his cot, staring at his ceiling and trying to get to sleep, when an enormous BANG! had him tumbling out the cot and onto the hard surface of the floor.

Another BANG! followed, and Mondo’s voice rang out in impatience: “HEY! ISHIMARU!”

_MONDO?! What was he doing here?_  

"ISHIMARU, YOU IN THERE?"

“GIVE—ME—ONE—MINUTE— _PLEASE_!”

Scrambling up off of the floor, Ishimaru tried to drag on a pair of pants, failed, and shoved a faded tee over his head before hopping over towards the door, one leg stuck halfway into his pants.

He was still struggling with the fly as he unlocked the door. Fortunately, by time Mondo swung it open Ishimaru had himself set.

The bounty hunter rolled his shoulders back in indignation. “You should really keep your voice down,” he scolded. “People are trying to sleep.”

"It’s only eleven!"

Ishimaru clucked his tongue. “Eleven o’ clock on a _school night_.”

"You’re such a fuckin’ nerd." With that, Mondo rolled his eyes and let himself in, pushing past Ishimaru into the flat proper.

A pained whine escaped Ishimaru and his hand shot out to stop Mondo. But it was too late. The hulking gangster was standing in the middle of his abode, hands planted on his waist. His eyes roamed around the small space, taking it in.

Blood rushed to Ishimaru’s face as he became aware of just how pathetic he must have seemed to Mondo. He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. “Oowada—”

"Nice place you got here. It’s compact. Guess you’re on the go a lot, huh?"

Ishimaru’s demand for Mondo to vacate the premises immediately got stuck in his throat. A faint groan took its place.

Mondo glanced over his shoulder, noted Ishimaru’s cherry-red complexion, and grinned. “Bet you can’t entertain any ladies in here though.”

Ishimaru roused himself out of his stupor. “Oowada, I demand to know what you’re doing here!”

"Grab your stuff." Mondo reached over to the chest of drawers, grabbed the coat Ishimaru had put down on top, and tossed it over to him. "It’s happening."

"Now?"

"Yes, numb nuts, now!" With a speed born of purpose, Mondo moved to the closet and began to dig out all of Ishimaru’s equipment. He picked up the sniper rifle, whistling low under his breath.

"Put that down, you need to handle it correctly! How—how did you even know where I lived?!"

"You put yourself in the public phonebook. Not the smartest move for someone like yo—whoa!" Mondo set the rifle down and instead reached for the sheathed Bowie knife, admiring it like a child would a new toy. "How did you get your hands on this?"

"That’s for me to know," Ishimaru responded, tone cold, "and for you to _never_ find out. Give it to me before you hurt yourself.” His hand shot out, resembling a mother who had just caught her child with a pack of cigarettes.

Mondo was in an exceptionally good mood and thus complied without comment. He stood quickly, grinning down at Ishimaru. “Come on, we can’t waste time!”

"All right, all right, let me grab my things!" Ishimaru, sensing Mondo’s need for urgency, tugged on his coat. "Where are we going?! How is this happening? What’s the plan?! Usually I need a bit more," he grunted as he slid his utility belt on, "forewarning! Do you know how long it took me to track you down?! Weeks!"

Mondo seemed quite flattered.

"Where are we going, Oowada?!"

"Old toy factory. Used to make teddy bears, now it just serves as a house for bums and squatters. The Monochromes are meeting us there. Supposedly we’re gonna negotiate for the release of my boys. In reality…" A feral grin stretched the length of Mondo’s face. His eyes darkened with blood-lust.

Ishimaru paused in his actions, watching Mondo with some concern. It took another couple of seconds for Mondo to beat back whatever what consumed him, and when he did he shook his head a little. “You ready?”

Ishimaru tucked his weapons into a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. He saluted Mondo as his answer.

Mondo groaned and started for the door. “Fuckin’ nerd.”

"Oowada, must you use profanity all the time?" Ishimaru fell into step behind him, clutching his bag tightly.

"Yeah, makes talkin’ a lot more fuckin’ colorful." Mondo couldn’t help but grin when Ishimaru winced.

Nothing more was exchanged between the pair until they had exited the building into the dark and largely empty street. Ishimaru hoisted his bag up a bit higher onto his shoulder. “Just give me the address and I’ll meet you there.” He started off towards the bus terminal, only to be stopped in his tracks by a:

"Whoa whoa whoa, where’re ya goin’?! Our transportation is right here!"

Ishimaru followed Mondo’s pointed finger towards a very sleek, very stylish…

…motorcycle.

An audible gasp of horror escaped Ishimaru. He backed up several paces, shaking his head. “Absolutely not! That thing is death on wheels!”

"Death On Wheels," Mondo mused, "that’s a good name in case I ever get sick of ‘Crazy Diamonds’."

"Oowada—Mondo—you can’t seriously expect me to get on that thing!" Ishimaru shook his head in a panic. "Neither of us have helmets or knee pads! There’s no seat belts! It’s too dark out to see without proper headlights—"

"Relax, Ishimaru, I do this every night!"

"But we’ll be going fast—we’ll be _speeding_ —”

"I’ll only go twenty over the speed limit, I promise."

Ishimaru went white. “I AM NOT GETTING ON THAT INFERNAL CONTRAPTION AND NEITHER ARE YOU! We’ll take public transportation, it’s safe and reliable and the bus driver is _very_ nice—”

"You can write me up to the principal later, Hall Monitor. C’mon." Mondo jerked his head towards the bike.

Ishimaru took another step backwards. “No.”

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"NO!"

"Don’t make me come over there."

"Don’t make me report you to the traffic police for violating multiple safety codes—"

A very long-suffering groan escaped Mondo, who ignored Ishimaru’s protests, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him up onto the vehicle of wheeled death. Ishimaru froze on place. His lips moved in quick, silent prayers to whichever deity felt like taking pity on him.

"Sheesh, Kiyotaka, relax." Mondo swung himself onto the bike in front of Ishimaru, taking a firm grip on the handles.

"Where—where is the secondary grip?!" 

"The what?"

"Where do I put my hands?!"

 "Around me." Mondo was still facing forward, and thus Ishimaru missed out on the shit-eating grin he sported. "Next time ya gotta buy me dinner first, though."

 Gingerly, as though he were sticking his hands into a bear-trap, Ishimaru leaned forward and eased his arms around Mondo’s abdomen.

 His foot shot down, kicking up the stand. At the same time the engine purred to life.

 In his element, Mondo laughed and revved the throttle—and suddenly Ishimaru was trying to crush Mondo’s ribcage.

 "Hall…Monitor…" Mondo wheezed. When Ishimaru failed to ease off the grip, he sighed and settled in for one very, very long ride.

 

                                                                    **…**

"You done yet?"

 The reply Mondo received was another round of retching. The gangster leaned back into the worn leather of his bike seat, a wicked grin flickering across his face.

 He made no attempt to help the vomiting Ishimaru, who had collapsed some feet away. The instant the motorcycle had come to a full and complete stop Ishimaru had staggered up and off of the bike, stumbled a few feet away, and scattered breakfast, lunch, and dinner all over pavement.

 "C’mon, Kiyotaka, suck it up! I’m gonna revoke your man card if you don’t!"

 Suddenly Ishimaru’s head shot up off of the pavement. He climbed to his feet, wiped a bit of dribble away from his chin, turned on his heel, and staggered back to Mondo with a dagger-filled look.

 Mondo might have been scared of Ishimaru’s murderous expression if his wibbly-wobbly walk hadn’t been so hilarious. He bit into his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

 "A man,” Ishimaru panted, “does not recklessly endanger his own life and other people’s for a bit of fun!”

 "It was _one_ wheelie.”

 "One wheelie too many!"

 Not for the first time that night, Mondo’s eyes rolled so far back into his head they nearly got stuck. Ishimaru continued to scold him, but the sudden roar of nearby motorcycles drowned out whatever grievances he was trying to express.

 Mondo cocked his head towards the familiar sound. “That’s the Diamonds. I gotta go.”

 "And what am I supposed to do?!"

 "What you do best." And with that, Mondo was roaring off into the night.

 Ishimaru huffed. One hand dug into his coat pocket, withdrawing a carton of cigarettes. He needed to get the taste of sick out his mouth.

 As he stood smoking, his surroundings gradually came into focus. Tall, empty buildings surrounded him on all sides, their shattered windows and opened doors giving him the impression of skeletons. This had been a thriving district of the city, once upon a time. Now it was a barren, empty, and desolate place. The tallest building loomed over the rest like a great lord. Moonlight illuminated the shattered windows of the building, giving it a shining, broken-teeth grin.

 Ishimaru considered the area around the old teddy bear factory, tracing an invisible line to a nearby building. After another moment of deliberation, he popped his collar up against the night’s chill, collected his bag of weapons, and slid into the shadows.

 The din of motorcycles revving covered whatever noise Ishimaru made as he slipped through the streets. His boots crunched under broken bottles and the remains of makeshift fires.

 Bums and squatters lived here, that’s what Mondo had said. But where were they now?

 His breathing seemed far too loud, the small light shining off of his cigarette far too bright. Ishimaru gritted his teeth and entered the building adjacent to the teddy bear factory.

 Shattered glass and cobwebs were all that greeted him as he entered. Bracing himself, Ishimaru waved through the layers of grime. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness he could spot a staircase winding upwards.

 The stairs creaked the entire way up to the topmost floor, but by now the roars of motorcycles and rowdy cries of furious gangsters were so close that it didn’t matter. Lights from headlights and flashlights flitted through the windows.

 There was an open window facing the teddy bear factory, and it was there Ishimaru set up his position. He adjusted his rifle and peered through the scope, surveying the area below.

 A crowd of masks had gathered around the front of the factory, chattering and jeering at the grim, silent line of motorcycles that stood opposite. Curious, Ishimaru zoomed in on one of the masks.

 The mask was in the shape of a cartoon bear’s head—the right side of the face was white, with a benign grin and a simple dot for an eye. But the left was pitch black, with a long, sadistic grin and a red eye that seemed to glow.

 It was hardly a gruesome design, and yet the more Ishimaru stared at the mask the more unnerved he became. He wrenched his gaze towards the factory—and caught side of something very interesting.

 He could see more masked figures running to and fro with the factory, almost in a panic. Some carried bulky containers, and as he watched one spilled something wet and dark across the floor.

 Ishimaru’s gut twisted. He now looked towards the Crazy Diamonds. Their leader was calling for Junko’s head, voice deep and commanding. Rather than being impressed, however, Ishimaru was cursing Mondo under his breath. Why hadn’t Mondo given him a means of communicating with him in case something went wrong?

 Foresight, Ishimaru mused, did not an Oowada make.

 He shifted, peering through the crowds in search of Junko Enoshima or her distinctive pigtails. When he found no sign of her, he sat back, crushing his spent cigarette against the floor.

 Another cigarette came out of the carton, and his lighter followed.

 Perhaps, in retrospect, it was for the best that Ishimaru had picked up this smoking habit.

 Otherwise, when he flicked on his lighter, he wouldn’t have seen the approaching figure illuminated against the wall.

 Instinct kicked in instantly. Ishimaru grabbed his rifle and swung around, using it to block his attacker’s knife. The masked figure’s leg snapped up, kicking him in the chest. The force of the blow had him stumbling backwards, towards the open window. Ishimaru dropped his rifle, braced himself against the frame of the window as he nearly tipped out it, and used that stored momentum to propel himself forward, dipping his head into a charge.

 He headbutted his attacker in the chest, knocking the wind out of them. Ishimaru grappled for their shirt, trying to fling them to the ground. Unfortunately the Monochrome had the same idea. Ishimaru found himself being flung effortlessly.

 Ishimaru sprang to his feet again, adapting a boxing stance. He threw his fists in front of his face and began to bounce on the soles of his feet. He backed away from the Monochrome, eying their next move.

 "I suggest you leave," Ishimaru growled, "before you get hurt."

 The Monochrome didn’t say a word. Instead they rolled their shoulders back, cracked their neck, and gestured to Ishimaru in a “bring it” fashion.

 "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

 The Monochrome lunged forward and Ishimaru pivoted on the sole of his foot, catching his boot in the Monochrome’s shoulder blade. The Monochrome staggered to the side and Ishimaru completed his three-sixty spin. His wrists came up to guard his face, for the Monochrome had recovered enough to strike. His temple caught the blow, making his head ring. Blood filled his mouth—he’d bitten his tongue.

 Ishimaru struck out, catching the Monochrome’s chin. Hot balls of pain ricocheted up his arm and for an instant he was paralyzed. The Monochrome shook their head and instinctively shoved Ishimaru away.

 Ishimaru, caught off-guard, stumbled backwards with arms flailing. As the Monochrome’s leg snapped up towards him, Ishimaru swung forward again, crouched, and then nearly flipped backwards onto his hands. He used the carrying momentum to roll up onto his shoulders, flip onto his feet, and swing up into a standing position. His fist followed, smashing into the Monochrome’s chin.

 Ishimaru grunted, grabbed the stunned Monochrome by the collar of their shirt, and flung them to the ground. He straddled the Monochrome’s back, grabbing their arm as he did so. The heel of his palm came down with excessive force on the Monochrome’s wrist.

 A snapping sound rang through the room and finally the Monochrome spoke: a wordless howl of pain and fury.

 Growling, Ishimaru moved his grip to the broken wrist, twisting it so that the Monochrome was nearly choking with pain. He grabbed the fabric of the mask in his free hand and slammed the Monochrome’s head into the floorboards

The struggling beneath him ceased. Slowly Ishimaru came back to his senses. Panting and shaking, he staggered up off of the unconscious Monochrome. Dragging a twitchy hand through his hair, Ishimaru slumped against the wall, his legs barely supporting him. Blood dribbled from his chin and the ringing in his head had yet to fade.

 "I—" Ishimaru croaked and coughed "—I told you so."

 Heaving, he patted around himself for another cigarette, cursing the Monochrome under his breath.

 By the time he had retrieved his rifle and slumped back towards the window, the situation below had changed dramatically.

 Junko had arrived. She and Mondo were nose-to-nose, speaking in low, frenzied tones. Mondo’s hands clenched and unclenched, betraying how close to the surface his anger was boiling. Ishimaru shifted position, training his reticule on Junko’s throat.

 He licked his lips and edged a bit closer. His finger slid down towards the trigger, tightening.

 But suddenly Mondo was backing away from the laughing Junko, shaking his head wildly. And then he burst into a sprint, shoving her aside and throwing himself into the crowd of Monochromes, pushing them aside and straining to reach the open door of the factory.

 A few Diamonds started forward, calling for their boss to get back. Ishimaru froze, uncertain of what to make of this new development. What was going on down there?

 No matter. He had Junko in his sights. Ishimaru bit down on his cigarette and pulled the trigger.

 A split second later, the world exploded. 


	6. Pompeii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which fire burns

_**Chapter 6: Pompeii** _

The blast blew Ishimaru backwards, tumbling head over heel. A furious wind whipped through the room, followed by the deafening roar of an explosion.

Ishimaru hit the floor so hard he forgot how to breathe. For an instant he remained still, hands burning from the effort it took to keep a hold of his rifle. Thick, hot blood trickled down from a gash in his forehead. His entire face seemed scorched. Stunned into submission, Ishimaru only felt the urge to move when the ringing cleared from his ears, replaced by screams and shouts from below.

He dragged himself up, pressing one hand to his bloodied forehead as he did so.

Where the window had been there was a gaping hole and splinters. The night sky had exploded into orange and yellow, a blistering heat seared through the air.

"What…what the…"

Ishimaru staggered up and over to the shattered wall, staring at the scene below in horror.

Junko Enoshima lay dead in the street, a thin line of blood trickling out of the hole in her throat. But Ishimaru had only a second to glimpse his handiwork before her body was trampled by Diamonds and Monochromes alike as they fled from the fire that was now engulfing the teddy bear factory.

But there was one oversized pompadour Ishimaru did not see in the fleeing crowd. 

Ishimaru raised his hand to shield his eyes from the inferno, stumbling backwards to escape the heat. It occurred to him that the fire would spread to the rest of the buildings, and quickly. He had to get out.

But where was Mondo?

A soft groan caught Ishimaru’s attention. Hand still raised, he looked to the stirring Monochrome at his feet. Scowling, Ishimaru dropped to his knees, grabbed the Monochrome by the shirt, and yanked off the mask.

A shock of white hair tumbled out from beneath the mask, but the gray eyes that fixed on Ishimaru were youthful. The Monochrome grinned lopsidedly.

"What happened? What’s going on down there?"

"Her plan succeeded." The swaying Monochrome croaked.

Ishimaru jerked him closer, eyes flashing. “WHAT PLAN?!”

"The plan…to make those who betrayed her…and the one that took them in…feel the ultimate despair…"

"SPEAK LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"

A sharp cry of pain and panic served as his answer instead. Ishimaru’s head jerked up towards the burning factory, towards where the scream had originated from.

The Monochromes had taken young guys, Kuwata had said, new guys. And Mondo felt responsible for getting them back safely…

Eyes widening in horrified understanding, Ishimaru dropped the giggling Monochrome and bolted down the rickety stairs.

By the time he had made it back out onto the street, only the most loyal Diamonds remained, hovering at the entrance of the factory in uncertainty. Ishimaru sprinted towards them, hollering at the top of his lungs. “GET BACK! GET OUT OF HERE!”

One of them turned, staring at Ishimaru. “What the fuck—who’re you?!—holy shit, are you okay?!”

Ishimaru reached up and wiped away some blood with his sleeve. Grim, he looked to the Diamonds. “Get out of here.”

"But Boss!—Junko said she had our guys in the factory and he was going to get them—"

Ishimaru cut off their protests with a wave of his hand. “Get. Out. Of. Here. I’ll get Mondo.”

The Diamonds stared at him in disbelief. One cocked his head to the side. “Ain’t you the one that tried to off Boss?”

"Yes." Ishimaru nodded. "That’s why I’m going to get him. I don’t get paid if he manages to get himself killed."

Taken aback by his brutal honesty, the Diamonds couldn’t stop him as Ishimaru backed up, burst into a run, and jumped headlong through the flames.

The first sensation that hit him was heat.

The second was panic.

_Oh this was a bad idea this was a bad idea bad idea bad idea._

Ishimaru tried to move backwards, but the towering flames blocked his path. With no place to go except forward, Ishimaru charged forward through the fire, sidestepping lines of flames and burning embers. His eyes watered and his lungs burned. When he gulped in a breath to call for Mondo, all he inhaled was thick, black smoke.

A snapping, crackling sound caught his attention. Ishimaru’s eyes shot upwards. He jumped backwards just as an iron beam came crashing down through the ceiling.

Hacking and coughing, fighting the instinct to screw his eyes shut, Ishimaru forced himself to keep going forward. “M-MONDO! MONDO WHERE ARE YOU?!”

A roar was his reply. Ishimaru followed the sound. He jumped through another burst of flames to see Mondo struggling with the rope binding a screaming, sobbing youth to a chair.

"SOUDA—SOUDA, FOR FUCK’S SAKE, CALM DOWN! K—KIYOTAKA!?"

Ishimaru crossed over to them, well aware of the fire closing in. “We have to leave!”

"Not—without—" Mondo heaved, face reddening with the effort to breath as the fire sucked the oxygen from the air. Scowling, Ishimaru withdrew his Bowie knife, bent down, and cut through the binds keeping the young Diamond captive.

"There," Ishimaru panted, "now we can go."

"Not yet!" Mondo shouted, even as he hauled the hysterical Souda to his feet. "Not without Tanaka too!"

For an instant, with the fire roaring in his ears and sweat pouring down his neck, Ishimaru was tempted to leave Tanaka—whoever Tanaka was—to his fiery fate. But his sudden rush of viciousness dissipated upon seeing the determination in Mondo’s eyes—and the fear that determination was trying to bury.

Oh, he was going to regret this.

Ishimaru gestured to Souda, who clung to Mondo in fright. “Get him out of here. I’ll get Tanaka.”

Mondo’s eyes widened but they didn’t have time to discuss Ishimaru’s motives, for there was another distinctive crash indicating that this building was falling apart, and fast. A bellow for help followed.

Grimacing, Ishimaru darted off into the inferno once more. Ishimaru twisted and wound through collapsing structures and bursts of fire, his burning lungs protesting his decision to play hero. “TANAKA! TANAKA, WHERE ARE YOU?!”

“GET—ME—OUT—OF—HERE!” The sound of a beating fist against a door punctuated the shout.

The thunderous voice that sounded more pissed-off than frightened brought Ishimaru up short. “TANAKA?!”

"I—AM—GOING—TO—KILL—THOSE—MONOCH—" The voice was cut off by a round of violent coughing. Ishimaru followed the voice, sidestepping a bunch of shattered glass as he did so.

"TANAKA! TALK TO ME!"

The banging started up again. “WHO—ARE—YOU?!”

"ISHIMARU!" Tanaka’s shouts were drawing him to a supply closet. "NICE TO MEET YOU!" He halted, tugging at the supply closet doorknob.

"SAME! IF YOU GET ME OUT OF HERE, ISHIMARU, I PROMISE NOT TO DESTROY WHEN I RULE THE WORLD—" Another round of coughing seized the trapped Tanaka.

Ishimaru grunted. “Perhaps we should focus on getting out of here first, yes? Stand back!” He planted his feet firmly on the ground before snapping his right leg up and into the door, leaning into the kick as he did so.

The force of the kick knocked the locked door in. Tanaka came stumbling out, a scarf wrapped around his mouth. He managed a muffled greeting before Ishimaru grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of harm’s way, for another piece of ceiling had just come crashing down.

Ishimaru didn’t speak, preferring to save his energy for more important things like breathing and running. He still had an iron grip on the stunned Tanaka, who followed his movements without question.

Fire nipped at his heels, his lungs burning with the effort to breathe. His throat felt raw, like someone had scraped the inside of it with a knife. His legs were finally failing him, causing him to limp. But nevertheless instinct carried Ishimaru towards the front entrance. 

And meeting him at the front entrance was a hysterical Souda and a Mondo collapsed underneath a burning wooden beam.

Ishimaru and Tanaka were beside them in an instant. “DON’T!” Ishimaru snapped as Souda tried to tug Mondo out from underneath the beam. “YOU TWO, GO!” He pointed towards the open door. “NOW!”

Both hesitated, eyes flickering between the unconscious Mondo, the grim-faced Ishimaru, and the inferno threatening to engulf all of them.

"GO!" Ishimaru bellowed.

His tone didn’t allow them to think twice. They bolted out, leaving Ishimaru to kneel beside Mondo. “MONDO! MONDO WAKE UP!”

Mondo moaned but didn’t reopen his eyes.

"MONDO! GET—UP!" Ishimaru ducked his head, struggling to breath. "GET UP, PLEASE! MONDO!"

The gangster lifted his head slightly but didn’t reply.

"MONDO, GET UP! YOU—MADE—ME—A—PROMISE—GOD—DAMN—IT!”

Finally Mondo’s eyes snapped open. A weak moan escaped him. “…Daiya?…”

"GET UP!"

"D-Daiya…?"

"I SAID GET UP!"

Finally Mondo roused himself, struggling and failing to crawl out from beneath the beam.

 Ishimaru studied the beam for an instant before he licked his lips, braced himself, and stuck his hands underneath the burning beam.

Heat and pain seared his palms instantly. White spots flashed before Ishimaru’s eyes and the pain threatened to knock him out, but Ishimaru gritted his teeth and prevailed through the pain. He wrenched the burning beam up, choking out a gasp when splinters dug into his burning hands.  ”GET UP!”

The weight was off of Mondo. He crawled out from beneath the beam. The instant his boots were free he collapsed again, blood dripping out of a gaping hole in his head.

With a sharp gasp Ishimaru dropped the beam. The flesh on his hands was already blistering, and those blisters popped as Ishimaru grabbed Mondo’s coat in his hands and hauled him up. Half-dragging, half-carrying Mondo, Ishimaru used the last ounce of his strength to sprint through the flames blocking the front door.

The instant cool night air hit his head, Ishimaru’s run became a stumble, and he collapsed to the ground. Mondo rolled off of him, still groaning weakly.

Panting, sucking in air as though he’d never get the chance again, Ishimaru remained stunned and still, pain wracking his body.

He didn’t move, not even when the sound of boots crunching over glass grew closer.

He didn’t move, not even when Leon Kuwata’s fiery red hair popped into his vision, eyes wide, the firelight dancing off of the beads in his goatee.

He didn’t move, not even when Kuwata arched his eyebrow, helped him sit up, and asked a fairly fair question:

"What the fuck did you two do?"


End file.
